Alzheimer’s disease has impacted me by ripping away the person who taught me everything. Imagine the one person who not only taught you your ABCs and how to write your name but also taught you love, compassion, and strength, slowly withering away into someone unrecognizable. That person, for me, was my grandmother. The hardest part about Alzheimer’s isn’t the end; it’s watching the slow unraveling of the person you love most. I was around twelve years old when I first learned my grandmother had Alzheimer’s. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. At first, it just seemed like she was being forgetful—misplacing things, forgetting names, or asking the same questions more than once. It was annoying. I didn’t have the maturity yet to grasp that something much deeper was happening. Why must she ask me the same thing over and over? Why did she forget what she just told me? Over time, her forgetfulness turned into confusion. She began repeating entire conversations, then started saying things that didn’t make sense at all. I remember the shift in her eyes when she tried to speak but couldn’t find the right words. And then came the aggression. Alzheimer’s didn’t just erase her memory—it changed her personality. My sweet, patient, encouraging grandmother began to get frustrated and mean. But even when she was angry or confused, I always knew I was her favorite. I could feel it in the way she looked at me, even when she couldn’t say my name. People often say that with Alzheimer’s, there are two deaths. The first is the most painful: it’s when they’re still physically here, staring you in the face, but the person you knew is completely gone. That’s exactly what I experienced. At fifteen, I felt my grandmother die for the first time. The woman who raised me, encouraged me, and poured love into me had vanished into a version of herself that didn’t even recognize me anymore. When she passed away for real two years later, at seventeen, I didn’t cry. I rejoiced because I knew she was finally free from the confusion, the frustration, and the heartbreak of losing herself piece by piece. Watching the strongest person I knew slowly fade away taught me more about life than any textbook ever could. It taught me that life is not measured in how long we live, but in the legacy we leave behind. My grandmother’s legacy lives on in me, and now in my children. I went back to school not just to better my life, but to honor her. I want my children to see that anything is possible, no matter how hard it gets. I want them to know that education, perseverance, and compassion are things we carry forward, generation after generation. There are still days when I hear her voice in my head, giving me advice. One of her favorite sayings was, “You don’t know it all. You ain’t done learning until you’re dead.” That stuck with me. It reminds me to stay humble, to keep growing, and to never act like I’ve arrived. She believed in lifelong learning, and I hold that belief close to my heart. I wish she could see me now—back in school, chasing a degree in business, and raising my children with the same values she raised me with. Losing her changed the way I view time, relationships, and the importance of passing down knowledge. It taught me that nothing is promised, and that we have to hold tight to the people we love while we can still recognize their faces and hear their laughter. Alzheimer’s took away my best friend, but it couldn’t touch the lessons she planted in me. Her words, her example, and her love live on every time I teach my children something she once taught me. Through my grandmother’s journey with Alzheimer’s, I’ve learned to be more patient, more empathetic, and more determined to make my life count. I’ve learned that suffering can produce strength, and that even when a disease steals someone’s memory, it cannot steal the mark they left on your heart. My dream is to leave behind a legacy just as powerful as hers—one rooted in love, perseverance, and purpose. I want my children and my children’s children to hear my voice long after I’m gone, just like I still hear hers. Alzheimer’s may have taken her from this world, but the lessons she taught will echo for generations.

Being a single mother has been the most defining experience of my life. It has shaped not only who I am but who I strive to become. Every long night of studying, every shift at work, every moment spent juggling parenting and school is rooted in one goal: building a better future for my children. That reality has influenced my career goals in ways I never imagined. Through struggle, I’ve gained resilience, structure, and a deep sense of purpose—qualities I carry with me as I pursue a business degree and a career focused on lasting impact. Raising children alone while working full-time and attending college is an overwhelming challenge. There have been times when I didn’t know how I was going to make ends meet. I've had to choose between buying groceries and paying for textbooks. I've studied through exhaustion, completed assignments in between diaper changes, and shown up to work despite sleepless nights. It’s hard, and often isolating—but I keep going. Because quitting isn’t an option. I want my children to grow up knowing that their mother didn’t give up on herself or on them. I want them to see firsthand that dreams require hard work, and that true success is about what you overcome to reach your goals. Professionally, I’ve had the privilege of working in the chambers of the only Black judge in our county’s common pleas court. That experience has profoundly impacted me. Watching someone who looks like me lead with integrity, wisdom, and compassion has taught me that representation is powerful—and necessary. I’ve seen how leadership grounded in empathy can change lives. That example has inspired me to build a career where I can be a leader, too, not just for the title or the paycheck, but to create spaces and systems that work for people like me. With my business degree, I hope to step into leadership roles where I can develop programs, support initiatives, and manage organizations that serve single mothers, young women of color, and underserved communities. My goal is to use what I’ve learned—both in the classroom and in life—to uplift others, offer real solutions, and open doors that have long been closed to people from marginalized backgrounds. This scholarship would be more than financial support—it would be a stepping stone toward the future I’m fighting for. It would ease the burden I carry daily and allow me to focus on completing my education, building a career, and leaving a legacy of strength, purpose, and possibility.